Category Archives: Austria

So, here’s last week’s skiing dilemma: all 8 lads have just put €50 in the kitty. 400 smackers – clearly enough for quite a few beers. And then kitty carrier goes arse over tit and because he’s only got one plank welded to his leg, shatters his shin bone and has to be blood wagoned down the slope. Of course, the 7 still standing are intensely sorry for our Kumpel, but hells bells, what do we do about the kitty!?!?

Having said that, a boys trip is actually an object lesson in reconnecting with humanity. This may surprise our wives…., but we are able to discuss the finer aspects of life. Of course, not wishing to stretch credulity, obviously we do all the usual boy things – lots of farting, burping, gross humour, discussion of the merits of tits vs arse etc etc. But these are not the only topics of discussion. For example, in one evening we covered all the following topics: How long has your longest friend been you friend? The meaning of religion. Why do we pay tax? The respective merits of tea vs booze. How should we all contribute to society? The benefits of 3 in a bed. Politics – in general. How best to stack a dishwasher (good debate on that one!) How much we love our kids. James Bond (was The Living Daylights R Moore or T Dalton?) How long should you boil an egg at altitude to get a perfect softy? (Answer 6.5 mins in Sölden…) What exactly are parental responsibilities? How safe is the cut? And how long does it take to clean out the tubes before the risk of impregnation has passed? ALL ON ONE EVENING!

I hesitate to enumerate the list of other topics discussed on other evenings. Frankly Rousseau and Voltaire would have been hard pressed to keep up. And I haven’t even mentioned the skiing, yet.

Even our cooking wasn’t bad, although heaven knows what happened to this spaghetti…, swiftly followed by an argument over dishwasher stacking (f.f’s sake!)

Boys do not do things by halves. If we go to the supermarket then we damn well shop – and need at least 2 trolleys to get the beer back home (thank God the team had learnt to avoid Alkohol-frei this time!)

Oooops, not quite sure how the last evening’s entertainment crept in there… passing swiftly on (!) we come back to the initial dilemma. What to do about that €400? The cash needs to be weighed up against the seriousness of the injury. Take a look at the poor chap’s shin bone:

Well, being the decent chaps we are of course we chased after the blood wagon! So that’s another boys trip over for another year. Can’t wait for the next one.

(Now boys – if you haven’t seen the video, then let me know and I’ll wetransfer it to you. It’s fun. And ask yourselves this: What does Granny really want?) Tschüß, bis zum nächsten Jahr!

Now, all that drinking and dancing malarky in the last post (see here) is actually peripheral to the main event of a skiing holiday. Which, of course, is to get the adrenalin going by carving down the slopes as fast as possible whilst looking as elegant as possible.

Me. Going fast. But not elegant…

I have to admit, there is some rivalry in the camp on this point. And, to be honest, I’m losing on both counts. The problem is the teenage children. They’re faster, they’re more elegant, they’re more skilful. Godammit, they’re just better, and there’s bugger all I can do about it!

13, going on 23, and skis like the dancer she is.

Handbrake turns, easy when you’re 15.

The jumps hold no fear

Even a coxcomb hat doesn’t slow him down

Youth of today

Luckily I can divert my put my pent up ambition to be the fastest slope-man to one side and admire the view. Stunning.

The mountain pass

The volcano mountain

The run into St Christoph

But then the boy whizzes past me at over 100kph and the race is back on! Elegance be damned – I need the speed!!!

Normally, I dedicate this blog to the pure aesthetics of fine art photography… But I must admit I have slipped from such lofty heights and succumbed to snip snappy shots on this one occasion. The reason? Ah, well that would be the annual half term skiing trip, where cameras do not mix so well with snow, skis, adrenaline, and on this occasion…., booze.

Aerobics at the Mooserwirt

The place: St Anton, the time: apres-ski, the venue: the Mooserwirt, where DJ Gerhard (70+ and still a spring chicken) hits the beat with the most fantastic KrautRock you’ll ever hear. No-one can resist, as Clem so ably demonstrates above.

Fun for all the family

Charles struts his stuff

Rose admires her nude stirrer…

This is the place where everyone knows the words and the actions to Schwimm, Schwimm and Wir wollen die Eisbaeren sehen, yes indeed, German seems to come easily, especially when lubricated with much beer. (Should have dragged the boys here last time – they could do with some German!)

Brother & sister boogie

Like mother like daughter

Happiness reigns

I’m blaming the booze for the poor quality of the photos, but they do seem to capture the spirit of the place. Speaking of alcohol – my daughter (13 going on 25) knows what she likes…

before, and…

after!

Inevitably the fine Reinheitsgebot beer has its effect and the dancing gets wilder. We should quit before it all goes too far.

A week’s skiing is a week of laughs, but also of thuds, crashes, bangs and bruises. Indeed the laughs are usually at the expense of the thuds, crashes etc of one’s companions. And with the group that we go with, there’s plenty of that…

Charles – the speedster

Charles (14): snake-hips-carving-speed maniac, does not believe he can crash, even when he does. Impossible to keep up with him. Parental fear twisted to the extreme.

Hannah (11) powers down the mountain, smashes through the moguls (who needs to go round them!?!), likes to scream at the top of her lungs as she schusses, and promptly falls flat on her back when she stops at the bottom of a slope…

Power skier

Hannah ‘sits down’ 1

Hannah ‘sits down’ 2

Hannah ‘sits down’ 3

Immy (12) is the only one who skis delicately. She also sings whilst skiing, mostly songs from The Sound Of Music. She brings colour light and of course sound to the slopes.

The hills are alive…

Stu (40 something), boarder, deep powder nut & general thrill seeker, also has no fear of crashing. Which is good, because he did, and I got it on camera…

Stu starts well in the deep powder…

Oooops, he’s lost it…

The resultant portrait.

But the best of all is Stu’s wife Clem (no age given): beginner boarder, and daughter Mia (5 on the slopes, now 6 – happy birthday!): beginner skier. Their adventure goes like this:

Half way down slope Mia crashes. Clem takes off her board to comfort Mia. Board slides off down hill. Increases speed. Disappears off edge. Mia cries, wants Daddy. Skidoo turns up. Clem tries to explain, in German, what’s happened. Skidoo disappears off after the board. Stu turns up with Felix between his legs (4, can’t ski at all). A marital debate takes place on the side of the slope (@!**^$@). Skidoo returns, miraculously with the board! Mia continues down the mountain now with Daddy. Felix gets a lift on the skidoo! Clem boards down, slowly…

Ah, how we chortled over our Glühwein about that one. All’s well that ends well. And indeed the week did end well with no broken bones, although with many bruises. And some great laughs. Got to love the mountains…